


mid-youth crisis

by sadlikeknives



Category: Hidden Legacy Series - Ilona Andrews
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 02:38:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21246128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadlikeknives/pseuds/sadlikeknives
Summary: Augustine Montgomery goes above and beyond to make sure Connor Rogan finishes his group project, whether either of them likes it or not.





	mid-youth crisis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anticyclone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anticyclone/gifts).

> 1\. Title courtesy of [the Hozier Fanfic Title Generator](http://www.generatorland.com/usergenerator.aspx?id=22501).
> 
> 2\. In _White Hot_, Rogan describes his runaway spell as "earlier in the summer," so like...for the purposes of this fic, just assume that his school goes into June.

"Oh, for God's sake, Connor."

It took Connor a moment to process what he was hearing, and then he turned around slowly and asked what appeared to be just another street bum, "Freckles, what the hell are you doing here?"

Augustine looked almost neutral, mildly annoyed under the grime at most, but Connor could picture—well, not what was underneath the illusion. He'd seen what was underneath the illusion once, a memory to hold close to his heart even if it hadn't also been the occasion on which he lost his virginity, but despite his persistence in calling Augustine 'Freckles,' it wasn't the face he pictured when he thought of him. He always thought of that other illusion, the face he chose to show the world, and now he imagined that face full of disdain, like a sixteen-year-old librarian looking down his nose at Connor and his choices. Augustine kept a careful distance. Obviously, he was pissed.

"We need to talk about your group project for Sanderson's class," Augustine said, which was not an answer to his question and also was just about the last thing Connor had expected him to say.

"You're not even in Sanderson's class."

"That's not the point. You were supposed to do your section, which your group members apparently have, and the bibliography, which they don't."

Connor pinched himself. It hurt. He threw a pebble from the sidewalk at Augustine, and it bounced off his chest. Okay, not a dream or a hallucination. This conversation was really happening. Augustine Montgomery had descended from on high and tracked him down in the slums to talk about his economics class group project. Sure. Why the fuck not? "Does my father know where I am?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Although if he doesn't find you soon, you're going to miss finals, and it will be _hilarious_ if you have to repeat the year. You might not get to graduate early after all. How terrible."

"I don't get you sometimes."

"Good. The feeling is mutual. The bibliography for the group project for Sanderson's class. Did you do it before you set out on this extended temper tantrum?"

"Why do you care? You're not in the class, forget the group."

"Because the damn thing is due tomorrow and Greg Shaw says he's going to smash my face in if I don't produce the bibliography. Even if no one can see my actual face, I don't want it smashed in."

A red tide of rage swept through Connor, and he had to work to keep his control, to not let the overpass they were standing under crack in half. "He wouldn't dare."

"I am pretty sure he would," Augustine said coolly.

"Why is he even talking to you about it?"

"Because you're not _there_, Connor!" Augustine spat, the facade cracking enough to let some of the anger out, the illusion rippling for a moment, and Connor flinched from it, well-earned as it was. He'd meant to piss off his dad. He hadn't thought about everybody else. Well, maybe he'd thought about his mother a little. He hadn't thought about Augustine at all, and he realized now that had been a mistake. "What do you care?"

"That's not fair," he said softly. What did he care? Augustine was his, was why he cared. No one else got to touch him, even if Connor wasn't there to remind them of it. Although usually, Connor would admit, he managed to be pretty untouchable all on his own. It was really unfortunate that Greg Shaw had chosen now of all times to realize how much of that untouchability was illusion, like everything else about Augustine. 

Augustine just glared at him for several seconds, then asked, "Did you do the bibliography, or am I doing it tonight, assuming I can persuade Shaw to send me the rest of the project so I know what the hell to put in it?"

"Why the hell would you do it?"

"Because Shaw is probably planning on doing his entire section tonight, so he's sure not going to do extra work, and anyway he's already expressed what my options are. Gutierrez is too nice to foist it off on, and I don't even know who the last member of your group is."

It was Jason Lang, who was nearly as useless as Shaw, although it was interesting that Shaw was the one panicking about the project being completed. Maybe he was failing or something. "I did it," Connor admitted. "Most of it. I didn't have Shaw's sources yet." 

Augustine swore. "Okay, I can get them from him and finish it."

"You don't have to--"

"The alternative is that you come home and do your own work, and clean up your own mess," Augustine snapped.

"I can't come home yet," Connor protested. "I can't let my dad win."

"You know, for somebody so smart, you can be really stupid sometimes."

Connor opted to ignore that. "It's on my computer. The password's--"

"I know your password." Great. Connor would have to change it again when he got home. Augustine started to turn away, and Connor wondered how he planned to get access to his computer. There were several options. He could assume the face of one of the maids, or he could just knock on the door and say, "Hi, Mrs. Rogan, I need to get something from Connor's room."

He could also knock on the door and say, "Hi, Mrs. Rogan, I know where your son is," but somehow, Connor felt that he wouldn't do that. Not yet.

Probably before finals.

"Hey," he said, "Freckles."

Augustine turned back to him. "I've told you several times not to call me that."

Connor ignored that. "How'd you find me?"

"It was simple, really. I asked myself, 'Where's the stupidest place my bo—best friend could be right now?' and when you weren't there, I wondered where the second stupidest place was. And here you are."

Connor had to puzzle that over for a moment, and then understanding hit him in the solar plexus. "You went into Jersey Village?!"

"I thought _you_ were in Jersey Village," Augustine hissed.

Connor, personally, would have let Greg Shaw beat him to a paste before he waltzed into Jersey Village for Augustine. Well, no, that wasn't true at all. He would have let Greg Shaw beat him to a paste before he let Augustine waltz into Jersey Village, was more like it, and more correct than either of those was that he would have destroyed Greg Shaw first, except here they were, with Augustine having already gone into The Pit on his behalf. At least he had survived the experience. "I'm sorry," he said. "I wasn't thinking."

"That much has been very obvious," Augustine agreed, and then he turned around again and walked away.

Augustine apparently didn't tell Connor's parents where he was, because it took his father's people several more days to track him down. Apparently they didn't know him as well as Augustine did. Because money talked, his teachers let him make up the work for the three weeks he'd blown off, crunched into the week left before finals. He still aced all of his classes.

Years later, long after Connor told Augustine that he was joining the army and Augustine stopped speaking to him for several years in response, Rogan came to be aware that House Shaw held the contract to provide what meager security existed regarding Jersey Village. He didn't have much opportunity to think about it at the time, being in the middle of a race to keep Adam Pierce from burning down the entire fucking city, but later, when he had time, he sat down and he talked to his people, and he crunched some numbers, and he put in a bid to the city undercutting House Shaw by enough to make it worth Houston's while. He'd make practically no profit on it, but some things weren't about money.

When the new contract was announced, he got a text from Augustine, who was saved in his phone with a profile photo of a lovely, golden-brown stack of pancakes: _Are you still mad about that?_

He texted back, _Of course I'm still mad at Shaw,_ because he couldn't say the truth, which was something like, 'I'm still mad I put you in a position to have to go into Jersey Village, but at least I can take it out on Greg Shaw.'

He thought Augustine got it, because he started typing and then stopped a few times, those three dots appearing and disappearing, before he finally said, _You and your grudges._ Rogan just smiled at the phone.


End file.
